


Right, Wrong and the Normal In Between

by IcyPanther



Series: Finding the Light [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Pidge | Katie Holt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Protective Allura (Voltron), Protective Lance (Voltron), Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 20:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: Pidge didn’t want to think about it. She knew better now than to deny that it had happened or that she was fine but all she wants is for things to benormalagain. But normal is a concept that keeps getting further away. Pidge realizes just how far out of reach it is when she freezes in battle and memories distort reality. Everything is wrong. Nothing is right. But Allura doesn’t think it’s so black and white. There are a lot of steps in between and she’s going to help Pidge walk that path and find her way once more.





	Right, Wrong and the Normal In Between

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** Sequel set to _Sit Beside You_ , which takes place in early season four  
>  **Warning notes:** Just like its prequel, this fic deals with elements of rape although there is nothing of the actual act depicted and is primarily a recovery fic. However, due to Pidge’s age of being 15 the fic has been set to an M rating although there is nothing graphic whatsoever and again, this focuses on the recovery. There are a few faint flashbacks to concepts but once more, nothing graphic.

“Pidge, I was hoping you could help me bake some cookies later? I just found this new recipe and—”

“Sorry,” Pidge cut Hunk off, unable to look him in the eye as she made her escape from the kitchen following breakfast. “No time today. Maybe next time?”

Next time.

Just like she’d said _every_ time for nearly the last three months whenever Hunk asked if she’d like to do something with him.

“Yeah, sure,” Hunk’s voice was soft, still audible over the clink of cutlery from the others still at the kitchen table.

She didn’t have to look at him to know his shoulders were rolled in and his hands were twisted inside one another and there would be a look of hurt that no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t hide and only grew worse with each time she told him now.

God.

She was so _mean._

And yet…

Yet she couldn’t.

She fled to the safety of lab where no sad eyes except her own were to be found.

Three months.

It had been three months since, since _it,_ and she still couldn’t function like a normal (or, well, whatever normal was for her anyway) human being. 

God.

What was _wrong_ with her?

It was _Hunk._ And _cookies._

 _He_ was not going to hurt her.

She knew that. She knew that she knew that she knew that.

But her brain was apparently fucked up because every time Shiro or Hunk or God, even Coran, spoke, their lower registers made her hair raise and go _run run run_ because if she didn’t she wouldn’t get a chance. And even when Hunk was in near tears, voice high, he was so _big_ and if he wanted to (and he didn’t, he wouldn’t, but God he _could)_ he could grab her and hold her down and—

Something was wrong with her.

She should be better by now.

And telling herself that only ever made her feel worse.

When she’d broken down crying in Lance’s arms she’d had the thought that as shitty as things were they were going to get better. She was strong. She could get through this.

She’d apparently been wrong.

And she had no one to blame but herself.

The team was being _so_ understanding. They were giving her space without her having to ask for it, they didn’t ask about _it_ or bring it up in any way. Hunk went out of his way still to make her special treats, Shiro had made certain whenever they had close combat training she was always paired with Allura, Lance had loaned her his quilt collection, Coran brought her mugs of tea or space coffee and would leave them outside her lab door with a text to let her know they were there, and Allura had somehow convinced the mice to spend a couple nights a week with Pidge and sleeping with their warm little bodies curled up in her hands was surprisingly comforting.

All of them told her was they were there for her, whatever she needed, whenever she wanted it.

She could cry at how nice and understanding they all were being.

Which was why she felt like such a _jerk_ when she did shit like this.

Because for all she had told Lance that she was not okay, that she had allowed herself to open up in that moment, she had pushed it all away shortly thereafter.

She blamed the huge fight with Galra forces for it later that same day because she’d _had_ to compartmentalize her thoughts when they’d formed Voltron so no one else was affected by her emotions.

And she just… hadn’t stopped.

But it really wasn’t the battle, not really.

It was her.

She just… she didn’t express herself well. She had always been like that. She stored bits and pieces of herself in mental file drawers because it was orderly, it was neat, it made sense for all of the thoughts in constant motion in her head.

It was safe.

And thinking about what had happened…

That made her feel unsafe. The churning emotions and memories made her nauseated and sick and she just…

She didn’t want to feel that way.

So she didn’t.

She locked it up, out of sight out of mind.

She wouldn’t deny nothing had happened as she had before, she knew that much.

But there was no need to acknowledge it. It was done, it was over, and there was nothing more to it. She was in full health, she wasn’t, God, she wasn’t pregnant, and she was still more than capable of connecting with the team and forming Voltron. 

So talking about it?

Not necessary.

She knew the others, especially Lance and Allura, did not like that decision, but they’d both made clear that they wouldn’t make her address _it_ unless she wanted to.

And she didn’t.

She wanted to forget. 

Forget the way she’d been pinned against the wall, the way she had struggled and fought because she was a fucking _Paladin_ of _Voltron_ and _it hadn’t fucking mattered,_ because he had still…

She shoved both the thought away and the items covering her desk.

New thoughts.

New project. 

She needed to get out of her head.

She viciously began sorting out the box of wires Coran had unearthed in an old castle storage room, citing he thought she might find some use for them.

Red ones in that pile.

The stiffer green ones there.

The curly yellow ones in that section.

Color coding because she wasn’t an animal.

The thought, normally always making her grin at the way she and Matt would chorus it to their parents, only made tears prick her eyes at the reminder of Matt.

Matt…

He had been so _angry_ when Allura quietly relayed to him a summary of what had occurred because Pidge had already told the princess she couldn’t tell him when he made it to the castle two days after it had happened.

She’d never seen him like that. 

It had disappeared in an instant when she must have made some sort of noise because Matt had dropped to his knees, stricken, and opened his arms with a choked, “ _Katie,”_ and she had gone into them with a low sob.

Matt’s arms had always been safe. 

They still were even though they had been shaking.

He’d told her he was going to stay at the castle, take time off from the rebels, be there for her and she?

She had told him no.

Pidge wanted things to be _normal_ again and having Matt around the castle was not normal. It was nice and comforting and made her feel safe but it was not normal and that’s what she desperately wanted things to go back to.

So Matt had only stayed a couple days, respecting her wishes although she could see how much he wanted to say otherwise. But she’d seen him and Lance talking, heads bowed and both of their expressions very serious for them in the lounge that first night he was there when she had been in bed but nightmares had driven her to pace the halls, and she had known without a doubt it was about her and Matt’s presence.

Lance…

Lance had been the most surprising thing in all of this. 

Pidge felt her hands cease their tremble just a bit.

She’d always known he was kind, even when he was being an annoying asshole and doing stupid shit to try and impress Allura or when he’d challenge Keith. She’d known too that Lance was pretty people smart, definitely in a way she never would be.

But it still surprised her at just how… how much she had come to rely on him. He was a safe harbor in the storm, his presence somehow never threatening and his voice always soothing.

Seeing him and Matt in the lounge had finally clued her into the why as similar builds, similar mannerisms and similar tones had filtered across.

Lance was like Matt. He made her feel safe.

But she couldn’t use him like that.

She couldn’t take advantage of that kindness, of that warmth, because that wasn’t normal either.

And she needed things to be.

Allura too was a part of that. 

The two of them had never been close, not really. She knew now in hindsight that Allura had tried to make that connection when she first found out Pidge was a fellow female, but it had never gone anywhere. It’s not that Pidge didn’t enjoy being girly the way Allura liked to dress up and wear jewelry and pick flowers; it just wasn’t a priority. The two of them didn’t have much in common other than a shared gender and Pidge didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. They were very different people.

But after _it_ Allura had been seeking her out more and more. Not to discuss it, even though she’d told Pidge on numerous occasions she was always there if Pidge wanted to, but seeking her companionship to help give the mice their baths or to watch an Altean soap opera with her or accompany her planetside for shopping.

Pidge always declined, just as she did with Hunk and even most of Lance’s attempts. 

It just…

It wasn’t normal.

And she didn’t want Allura’s pity. She didn’t want them to bond over _this_ even though she could still remember in hazy memory clinging to Allura inside the Blue Lion, of the gentle way the princess had held her hands in the infirmary as she explained what was happening as Coran prepped the pod, of how she had smoothed her hair back while they waited for Lance to come by with a pill so she...

It…

It had been nice.

It was what Pidge imagined having an older sister might be like.

But it wasn’t normal.

And Pidge wanted everything to be that way again.

So she always had a reason as to why she couldn’t spend time with Allura and while she knew the princess could be beyond stubborn when she wanted something she had not pursued. She had stopped asking just over a month after, only inviting Pidge to more group-centered things or letting Lance extend the invitation (the only one Pidge ever accepted because that at least was normal as he had always hounded her even at the Garrison when he’d thought she was an anti-social asshole of a boy) when they for items not related to Voltron or the Coalition.

Pidge still felt a flare of guilt when she’d sometimes catch Allura’s eye but she tamped it down.

Normal.

She just wanted things to go back to the way they were.

She was doing a shit job of it.

She told herself things would get better, they would, if she just put enough time and distance between herself and what had happened. That one day she’d wake up and her stupid brain wouldn’t be having flight responses at the larger males of her team, that her first thought every morning wouldn’t be the remnant of a nightmare of _him_ and when they formed Voltron she didn’t have to build up walls so high that China would have been jealous to keep them from seeing how fucked up she still was inside.

As if they didn’t know.

When was the last time Hunk had worked with her in the lab?

When was the last time she’d clambered aboard Lance for a piggyback ride?

When was the last time she’d laughed without reservation?

When was the last time she hadn’t been the first to leave the dinner table?

She knew the answer.

Before _it_.

Always before.

Her phone buzzed and Pidge nearly upset the pile of green wires in surprise.

Lance.

_Which chipmunk is Dale and which one is Chip? Chip is the red nosed one, right? Tell me I’m right so I can tell Hunk he’s wrong._

Pidge felt a smile lift her face. 

Normal.

This was normal.

She appreciated the little things like this more than she could say and Lance… Lance just always _knew_ when she needed a dose of it.

And not only that…

But she found it easier to express her words in the texts. It was the only time she used sarcasm anymore, any of that snark that her mom had always shaken her head at and given up on trying to turn Pidge into a “polite young lady.”

_You’re wrong_ she texted back.

_What?!?!?_ Came Lance’s response before she could type out her explanation and she felt a huff of laughter emerging from her throat. _Come on, i had dish duty riding on this!_

_Chip has the black nose like a chocolate chip. Dale has the red nose._

She hit send and then quickly typed out another line. _I hope you like doing dishes ;)_

_Gee, thanks_ chimed in a tick later, but it was followed by a _;p_

That was all there was to the conversation and Pidge was so grateful for it, that not every interaction had to be a constant reminder of _it._ Things like this reminded her that _she_ was still in her mind, even if she was a little lost. That normal did exist.

That she hadn’t been capable of a text like that a month ago so she _was_ getting better.

Just very, very slowly.

But progress was progress and she would take every little step.

She returned to sorting her wires, made a mental note that Hunk would probably find some good uses for them too and she should offer to let him come down to the lab and take a look.

Later.

With Lance. 

But…

But it was a start. 

Another step towards normal.

And she just had to keep on walking. 

xxx

They were in trouble.

Moreso than usual.

Pidge wondered, as she smashed her bayard through a sentry who had gotten too close, why things always had to go awry. Why could Voltron not engage in one mission anymore without there always being a full contingent of soldiers and sentries or a battalion of fighter ships waiting in the wings?

It was starting to get a little old. 

She also wouldn’t deny that having an outlet to destroy things wasn’t nice. It was. It was very nice.

She knew she could easily go into the training room and take out a bunch of the bots, but this was far more satisfying. Every single Galra sentry she sent into a pile of sparks, watching that insignia melt and char, eased something inside of her.

That, and no one treated her differently on the battlefield. It was the one place where the sad eyes disappeared, where all thoughts about _it_ had to go as they had more important things to concentrate on. 

And it wasn’t just them.

Her brain _finally_ stopped thinking in the heat of battle, no room for the constant circuit on that topic when she was downloading data or fighting sentries or blowing shit up with Green. Considering there were explosions and yelling and the sound of gunfire it was…

It was peaceful.

She wondered sometimes if this was how Keith felt, why he seemed to enjoy battle so much. Not so much the thrill of victory but just that sense of peace, of flow.

She wondered how he was doing.

He’d been told of the situation, how could they not?, but he hadn’t swooped down upon the castle. She did learn he’d demanded to know of the base, of the Galran who had… and she knew he’d been told that Lance had killed him — they never spoke about it again but knowing he was dead was one of the greatest comforts Pidge could find and knowing Lance, who only resorted to killing as a last possible method had done so without hesitation… it made something both warm and cold fill her chest but Lance didn’t seem bothered by his decision and she was grateful for it so she let it go — and that a week later the Rebels had completely blown the base sky high.

There was nothing else to destroy.

She almost felt a little bad as she knew how cathartic that was even though she had not ever wanted to even set foot in the same star system as that base again.

No, Keith had surprised her by sending her a text. It was simple, a little blunt. But it had been kind. And understanding. And he’d offered not only an ear like the others had but if she wanted to blow Galra shit up he could arrange it and he’d go with her to do so. It was very touching, in a Keith sort of way. 

She reread that message every night even though she had yet to take him up on his offer and in the two times he’d stopped by the castle he hadn’t even mentioned it. Some might say it was a little cold but not Pidge. It was normal.

She liked normal.

So while the neverending sentry bot army was annoying it too was normal and she reveled in it.

She could hear Hunk’s canon fire from across the hangar they had been ambushed in and based on the light show of purple up in the rafters that’s where Shiro was. She’d heard Lance a couple times on the comms; he’d set up some sort of sniping next and she had a feeling it was near to Shiro’s location.

Allura was on the main floor with her, although they’d been separated a minute ago with a giant grounded fighter ship between them. Pidge wasn’t worried; Allura could easily take care of herself and she could too. 

She needed this.

Another sentry fell in front of her in a shower of satisfying sparks.

The area around her clear for the moment Pidge took a breath, bracing her hands on her thighs even though her head remained up and scanning the area. 

“Shiro,” she keyed in, “what’s our status?”

She hadn’t heard any recent orders and they were reliant on Shiro as they had all come over on the Black Lion. 

“Four minutes,” came the breathy response. “Make, make for the front of the hangar.”

“Ten four,” Pidge said.

She had some walking to do, nearly at the back. 

Time to get moving.

She stood to her full height, all five feet of it thanks to the one inch platform on her boots, and made to turn for the front.

A flash of purple coming through the interior door brought her up short. She’d sealed that door, very well if she might add. There was no way sentries should have been able to bypass i—

Her breath caught in her throat.

That was no sentry.

That was a Galran.

She…

She had yet to actually lay eyes on one since…

Since it.

This Galran at first glance didn’t look that much like him. They were both tall, yes, a little larger than Shiro. They were both purple. But this one had tufts of fur while that one had been fairly hairless save for his head, this one’s face thinner while that one had been wider with a large nose.

But his eyes.

They were the same.

Glimmering, predatory pupil-less yellow that were focused on her.

The prey.

 _Run_.

The thought filled Pidge’s mind as the Galran took a step in her direction.

Run.

Fucking _run!_

She felt frozen.

Her legs wouldn’t move.

“Well, well, a little Paladin all alone,” the Galran rumbled. 

“ _Today must be my lucky day. A Paladin of Voltron all alone and at my mercy.”_

Run.

Why wasn’t she running?

He stepped closer, steps measured.

Pidge finally managed to take one backwards.

It freed her from whatever spell that had been.

Her bayard, reverted back to its locked form, trembled in her hand and she spared it half a glance.

Fight?

Or flee?

The Galran was nearly upon her now, pace increasing.

Flee.

She needed to run.

Get _away._

Go.

She pivoted on her heel.

And something wrapped about her ankle.

Apparently this Galran used a whip-like weapon too.

It was the only thought she processed before she was being _yanked_ and her leg went out from underneath her at the sheer strength and she hit the ground with a muffled cry. 

He began reeling her in.

“Looks like I’ve caught myself quite the prize.”

_“You are going to be quite the treat, my little lioness.”_

Pidge’s heart was in her throat.

She was surprised it hadn’t managed to vomit itself out.

Her bayard clipped her chin as her arms popped out from beneath where she had fallen atop them.

Fight.

Fight.

She was not helpless like last time.

She had to fight.

Goddamnit fucking _fight!_

Pidge flipped herself onto her back and lined up her bayard with the Galran’s head.

She pressed on the trigger, the shock katar cord flying straight and true.

And he caught it with his other hand, the cord wrapping around and around.

That worked too.

Pidge went to press down on the trigger, light the asshole up like a Christmas tree, when the Galran drew his arm back and _pulled._

Her bayard was pulled from her hands.

He chuckled as he flung it behind him.

No.

God no.

“I admire the effort but you are no match for me, little Paladin.”

_“Resisting will make it worse. You are no match for me, little girl.”_

Pidge _screamed._

No.

No no no no no _no!_

It was not going to happen again.

She was being lifted now, the cord a circle of agony about her ankle as it compressed on the joint and all of her weight dangled from it.

Pidge ignored it.

It was nothing like what had happened before.

She pushed all of her strength into her other foot and _kicked._

Her boot smashed into the Galran’s chin with a satisfying _crack._

His shout was even moreso.

And the best part was when he dropped his retractable whip in favor of bringing both hands to his face.

Pidge hit the ground with a thump and she was on her feet within a breath, cord still tight about her ankle and not something she was going to be able to pry off before the Galran regained his senses and picked up the handle of it.

So she did the next best thing.

She ran.

And if it so happened to be in both the direction her bayard had gone and the front of the hangar then all the better.

She should call for help.

The thought crossed her mind.

She should call for help.

They were right there.

Shame stayed her hand as it rose to her helmet for the comms.

She was so insistent things go back to normal. And her calling for help like this?

Not normal.

A few months ago this opponent wouldn’t have scared her at all. She’d have mocked him for his fishing skills, she’d never have let him catch her in the first place because she wouldn’t have frozen like a fucking statue and would have taken him out before he’d even had a chance to release his weapon.

But she hadn’t.

She’d let him attack first because she’d given into the instinct to _run_ instead of _fight._

Like a Paladin of Voltron should.

God.

She was _pathetic._

So she needed to handle this herself.

She needed to prove to them that she could do this.

She needed to prove it to herself.

She was not a weak little girl.

She was a goddamn Paladin of Voltron and she could defeat one cocky asshole.

And then something crashed against her back.

Something big.

Something warm.

And Pidge regretted ever hesitating.

“No!” she screamed the word aloud that time as clawed hands descended on her shoulders, piercing through the armor plates, and _pressed_ down.

She was pinned.

_She was pinned against the floor, claws raking down her back and shredding her clothes._

“You little bitch,” came the breathless pant, pain filling even those words. 

_“You little bitch,” came the snarl as saliva dripped down between yellow eyes._

Pidge felt her upper body being lifted, prepared to slam into the ground.

_She was lifted off the ground, slammed against the cell wall._

Her head struck first, visor spiderwebbing at the impact and blood filled her mouth as she bit her tongue.

_The back of her head smashed against the wall. His lips smashed against her face and warm blood filled her mouth as he bit against her own._

A ringing was filling her ears as she was lifted up again for another strike.

It did nothing to mute the panic as the scenes overlaid one another, as the hangar around her morphed to her cell, as the glass pressing on her face became fangs.

God.

God.

“I’ll show you want happens when you mess with me!”

_“I’ll show you a good time. We’re going to have so much fun, my little lioness.”_

She couldn’t get free.

_She couldn’t get free._

He was going to hurt her.

_He was going to hurt her._

She couldn’t stop him.

_She couldn’t stop him._

There was another sound over the ringing then.

Someone was screaming.

It wasn’t her, her voice locked up once more inside.

There was a trail of claws across her back, a shout…

And then the weight was gone.

Pidge managed to lift her head, the scene jagged through her broken visor.

There was still no mistaking Allura’s pink armor.

Nor the Galran being _thrown_ by her, bodyslammed into the floor so hard that the metal dented.

Strong.

The word flitted across Pidge’s mind as she watched Allura lift a foot and _smash_ it into the Galran’s side, sending him rolling across the hangar.

Allura was strong.

And Pidge…

Pidge was weak.

So weak.

And…

And things were never going to be normal again.

Allura was turning from the prostrate Galran and a tick later she was somehow kneeling in front of Pidge, her mouth moving but Pidge could not hear the words anymore over the ringing in her head.

Hands were on her then, rolling her onto her back and then sliding beneath her shoulders and legs and she was being lifted into Allura’s arms.

The ringing grew worse.

Pidge decided she may have a concussion.

She welcomed the thought, the ringing, the blackness starting to dance on the edges of her vision.

She didn’t want to acknowledge what reality was screaming at her.

Normal was not a concept that existed.

Not anymore.

And she had been such a fool to think otherwise. 

xxx

“We need to talk.”

Pidge did not even look up from her laptop or give any indication she had heard Allura.

Allura stepped fully into the girl’s beyond messy bedroom, the door hissing shut behind her.

Pidge’s only reaction was to hunch her shoulders more, her back resolutely to both Allura and the door.

“Pidge, we need to talk.” 

Allura strived to keep her voice even despite the blunt words and the desperation creeping up her throat.

They could not continue like this.

She had been trying to respect the fact Pidge did not want to talk about what had happened, that pretending it had never happened was what comforted the young girl most and although Pidge was not acting much like herself she was still performing her duties as a Paladin and more than capable of handing herself in battle situations and so she had not pushed.

She had held onto the hope that Pidge might come to her, lean on her as she had immediately following the moment Allura had walked out of Blue’s cockpit and seen the horror that had been done. 

But she had not.

And Allura tried to tell herself that it did not hurt because she and Pidge had never been very close prior and while tragedy could bring people together it could also push them apart and with Pidge insistent that they not talk about it at all…

Allura supposed she wasn’t sure what expectation she had.

But today had shown her that the time of not talking, of waiting for something that likely would never happen, was not working anymore.

Seeing Pidge pinned down by the large Galran had brought a rage to Allura that had turned her vision red.

But beyond that rage had been such _fear_ as Pidge…

Pidge was not fighting back.

She had frozen, was merely lying there, catatonic, as that, that _praxia,_ had hurt her. 

And after Allura had dispatched the Galran and gone to Pidge’s side and seen not just dead eyes staring back at her but orbs mere pinpricks of fear… she knew then it was not a situation to be blamed entirely on a head wound.

Pidge had been terrified.

And she had frozen.

And Allura was done waiting.

Pidge had been hurt today.

She had been hurt three months ago.

And ignoring either situation was no longer a solution. It was a problem and one that Alaraan help her she was handling now before it was too late to do so. 

“Pidge—”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

The words were low, hoarse.

Pidge had been crying.

It explained why she refused to lift her head in Allura’s direction.

“I disagree.”

“Are you looking for an apology? Fine.” Pidge twisted on her bed and Allura hated that she had been right; honey brown eyes no longer hidden behind glasses were red-rimmed. “I know I fucked up today, okay? I’m _sorry._ Now just… just…”

Pidge turned back, hunching further over.

Allura took a careful seat on the edge of the bed.

“I was not seeking an apology,” Allura said softly. “But I am seeking answers and you are the only one who can provide them.”

“Wow, smooth Allura, real fucking smooth,” Pidge lifted her head again. “And you call yourself a diplomat?”

Allura could have chosen to be affronted at the crass words but Pidge was not a stranger. No matter that their relationship was not what Allura had hoped it would be she still called Pidge a friend and she saw behind them for what they were.

A front.

A wall.

A deflection.

But Allura was not so easily put off.

“I have always been more blunt than my father wished,” was all she said in answer to that. “Perhaps not a good trait for a diplomat but I am more than that. I am a princess. And I am also… I am also a very concerned friend.”

Pidge looked away but did not dispute her.

Allura took the point for what it was worth and gently continued.

She tried to remember what Lance had coached her on when she’d made her intention to seek out Pidge after the girl had left the cryo-pod a few varga after her concussion had been healed. 

“ _I_ was scared today,” she stressed the pronoun as Lance had instructed. ‘You’ statements would be taken as an attack, make Pidge defensive he had told her. Turning the conversation into how she, Allura, felt was more open and Pidge would be more receptive to it. 

It was how he had reached out to her that first time, he’d whispered. She’d thanked him for his wisdom and guidance, pressed a soft kiss to the darkening cheek, and taken her leave to put it into practice.

It was nothing she did not know, as despite her airs she did know how diplomacy worked, but the reminder that it had assisted Lance in helping Pidge to open up immediately following the events buoyed her.

She needed Pidge to not just listen, but to understand.

She did not want to lose her.

“I was scared,” she repeated, noting how Pidge had tilted her head ever so, listening. “Hearing you scream scared me. Seeing you pinned beneath that Galran scared me.” Pidge twitched ever so. “But what scared me most was how… how _quiet_ you were.”

No more screaming.

No more protesting.

No fighting.

Just lying there.

Locked inside her own mind.

“We have not talked about it,” Allura continued and Pidge definitely flinched that time. “And I know you do not wish to—”

“Don’t _wish_ to?” Pidge interrupted, her voice thick. “God, Allura. Of course not. Of course I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to fucking _think_ about it.”

She was on her feet in a blink, walking a few steps away from the bed before she was halted by her own room furnishings. Her arms were wrapped tight about her middle and from the back her shoulders were shaking.

“You think I want to remember _that?”_ she choked out. “About how, how _weak,_ I was? About how I couldn’t stop him when he, he _kissed_ me?” her voice broke on the word. “When he ripped off my cl-clothes and pinned me down and how much it _hurt_ when he, he… he…” She turned to look at Allura then, tears painting her cheeks. “Why the fuck would I want to remember that?”

“Pi—”

“Do I ask you to remember being shoved into a pod by your father?”

Allura sucked in a harsh breath.

“Do I ask you to talk about Altea’s destruction? Or, or about Zarkon turning on you and how that must have made you feel? No! No! So, so…”

Allura swallowed down her own painful memories Pidge’s words brought on and focused instead on the girl trembling in front of her. Pidge was lashing out because she was _scared_ and _hurt_ and Allura would not falter now when, no matter how much Pidge was denying wanting to talk, she was in fact doing so.

She was finally opening up.

“No,” she said simply, “no, I do not think you want to remember that. No one would. But, Pidge… ignoring painful memories does not make them go away. Believe me. I know. And you are hurting because of it. You have locked that pain inside and it has nowhere to go but to burrow deeper in, to fill your mind, to hurt you even more. You are punishing yourself. And I ask you… why?”

“What?” Pidge sounded surprised at that. “What? No. No, that’s, that’s not…” she swallowed. “That’s not true. I just… I just want things to be… be normal. To be what they were.”

“And is it working?”

Pidge winced.

Allura thought so.

“You are hurting yourself,” she repeated softly. “With not only these memories but this desire for things to be ‘normal’ when such a concept is forever changing and cannot be what it once was. You know this.”

Pidge’s throat bobbed.

“So I again ask why,” Allura said. “But I believe it is an conclusion you have not yet come to yourself.”

“And what’s that?” the words were meant to be brash but they only came out in a sob.

Pidge shook where she stood and Allura forced herself to remain sitting on the bed to give the girl space.

“You said it yourself,” Allura said softly. “Just a dobash ago. You called yourself weak. And you blame yourself for the events that transpired.”

It was Pidge’s turn to inhale sharply.

Realization filled Pidge’s face and Allura could not find any satisfaction being correct. 

“You think if you were stronger you could have stopped him,” Allura continued, jewel eyes meeting honey. “You feel that you should have been able to because you wear the mantle of Paladin of Voltron. You feel that you have failed because you could not do so.” She searched Pidge’s face. “Tell me I am wrong.”

Silence echoed.

Pidge reached a hand up to wipe at her eyes, the movement jerky. “You’re right,” she whispered. “You’re right. I, I should have been able to do… to do _something._ I fucked up. I failed. I—”

“And now you are wrong,” Allura said. “For you did none of those things.”

A glimmer of anger, frustration, came back to Pidge’s eyes. “Are you fucking listening, Allura? You’re the one who just said all of that!”

“I said that is how you feel, not what is true,” Allura countered. “There is a difference.”

“A diff—”

“Would you believe me weak had I been in your place?” Allura interjected and Pidge’s mouth snapped shut. 

Pidge shook her head. “But you, you’re _strong,_ Allura. You wouldn’t have—”

“Pidge,” Allura cut in again. “There is always going to be someone bigger, someone stronger out there in the universe. Perhaps it is not even physical strength, as was your situation. It could be drugs. Or words. Or numbers. If I had been in your place and I had been subdued by one of those means and I had been…” she drew in a breath, “had been raped,” and Pidge let out a little sob, “would you view me as weak?”

After a moment Pidge slowly shook her head.

“The ones who are weak are those that feel the need to control others. Who must hurt others to feel good about themselves. Who lack compassion and morals and heart. And you are none of those things.”

Pidge sank down to the floor.

Allura rose and carefully sat next to her.

She reached a hand out and placed it on the girl’s small shoulder.

Pidge didn’t pull away.

“You are strong, Pidge,” she said softly. “You are not and have never been weak. What happened to you was not your fault and the fact it happened says far more about the one who committed the act than the one who suffered for it.”

Pidge sniffled.

“You brought up my memories of my father,” and at that Pidge’s head jerked up, nearly clipping Allura’s chin.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, a dusting of shame highlighting her cheeks. “I should never have—”

“Shh, peace,” Allura held up her other hand and Pidge fell silent. “It is all right. I bring them up because you are right; those are painful memories for me. All of them. But they are not so painful when they are shared. I speak to Coran often about them. The mice too. And I have spoken on more than one occasion of Altea and my homesickness of it to Lance.”

She could feel Pidge’s eyes widen at the last one and Allura sent her a soft smile. “He is a very good listener, is he not?”

Pidge nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

“I am not saying you must speak of what happened. I am not saying that it is wrong to wish not to think of such things. I know I would not want to,” and she felt Pidge relax ever so under her hand at the admittance.

“So I suppose what I wish to say is... is do not hurt yourself by keeping it locked inside. Do not believe yourself weak or feel ashamed. Do not fixate on this concept of what was once normal and measure yourself to it. You are a different person now, Pidge. We all are. But we are all different together.”

Pidge rubbed a hand across her eyes with a wet sounding laugh. “Now you sound like a diplomat.”

Allura’s mouth parted. That was not what she had been aiming for.

“But… but I think that sounds more like something… something a friend would say. A…” Pidge peeked up through her bangs. “A sister.”

Allura could not contain the “oh!” as the words registered, her cheeks growing pink with pleasure, and doubly so as Pidge turned in her sit and wrapped her arms about Allura in a hesitant sort of hug.

“Come now,” Allura murmured, lifting her own arms and drawing Pidge in close, one hand about the petite back and the other descending into Pidge’s hair. “I have seen how you hug the others and this embrace is— oof!”

Pidge had apparently needed no further explanation and her arms tightened to where Allura thought her chest may actually be being compressed.

She would have it no other way. 

“Thank you,” Pidge mumbled into her shoulder. 

“I should be thanking you,” Allura said, smoothing her fingers through the short locks. 

“For what?”

“For allowing me to sit here, with you, like this. For trusting me. For being _you.”_

Pidge sniffled and Allura felt her hair being used as a tissue.

She didn’t mind at all.

That was what big sisters were for.

Allura knew this was not over. Things were still not entirely right.

But they were no longer wrong.

And whatever this version of normal was now...

Allura could feel that it had a bright future for them all. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is most definitely a hard subject matter to write no matter how many times I do it, and doubly so for someone as young as Pidge. That said, I'm always grateful and touched to have the opportunity to share more works of this particular trauma and its recovery because it's so so important to have conversations about sexual assault and recovery and being both a survivor and a supporter. 
> 
> This was a commission piece as a follow up to _Sit Beside You_ (the last one to get in before my no sequel commission rule) and the request asked for a bonding and talk between Pidge and Allura about events and I was more than happy to do so. I think we need more good platonic Allura and Pidge fics regardless of subject matter out there ♥ 
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic – and I use that word to describe not the actions this piece is centered around but the story as a whole – I would love to hear from you in the comments below. Given the nature of the fic please be considerate when commenting as they are public. Thank you very much.


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